


Underline

by moxda



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxda/pseuds/moxda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas party that unexpectedly turns nostalgic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underline

Jemma sighs heavily and brushes flour dust off of her apron. She has been preparing Christmas dishes for several hours now and the heat from the oven has formed a few sweat drops on her forehead.

Skye's will to help is invaluable, but as much as her intentions are good, her lack of skill is apparent, and so her presence doesn't make much of a difference. Except for her surprising talent of making puns about each and every thing Jemma cooks.

Jemma wipes her forehead and rolls up her falling sleeves, glaring at Skye as she makes yet another sly comment. The girl is sitting on a countertop, flailing her legs and grinning widely in what Simmons thinks of as a childlike manner.

"We've set the table, Jemma!" they hear Coulson roar from upstairs.

The Bus has undergone an extreme makeover and the lower deck has been made into a large kitchen. The ladies volunteered to take care of the food, so preparing the eating space has fallen to the boys.

"Though I gotta say, tablecloth is pretty hard to spread when you only have one hand," he added, a playful tone in his shout.

The oven clock abruptly starts ringing. Jemma turns the alarm off, while Skye jumps off the counter to grab the oven mittens and tosses them to her. They fly across the kitchen, and by an incredible accident, smack Jemma right across the face.

"Guess you could say you got _oven-_ s _mitten_ ," Skye tries to joke.

Trip coming down the stairs makes Jemma relax her grip on the rolling pin that she was about to threaten Skye with, but she still shoots her a death stare.

"How are we looking, girls?" he smiles and rests himself on the stair railing, crossing his arms.

“We should be ready in no time,” Jemma responds, “so you and Skye can already start laying out some of the dishes.”

They both nod and walk out of the kitchen with handfuls of food, leaving Jemma to finish up.

After a few more minutes of frantic preparations, Jemma squares her shoulders and walks up the stairs, holding the roasted turkey in her hands. As she sets it on the table, she notices Fitz put on a Christmas playlist, seemingly in hopes of setting the mood.

The holidays were always hard on him. For her they were always about the presents, not the ones she got, but the ones she gave. She notices his wrinkled shirt and sunken eyes, and decides to do something about it.

They’re all seated and waiting only for May. She comes in with a six pack of beer and puts it in the mini fridge by the table. As May slips into her seat, Coulson clears his throat, holding up his punch glass. He makes a short toast that makes Jemma’s toes curl in second-hand embarrassment and then the feast begins.

“Ugh, I'm so _jelly_ of your cooking skills, Jemma,” Skye says with her mouth full, pointing with a fork at the Christmas pudding before her.

“You mean envious, obviously,” Fitz cuts in, deadpan.

Simmons refills his glass and stealthily spikes his punch.

“D’you remember our first Christmas at the Academy, Fitz?” she starts, trying to relax him, “They organised that party in The Boiler Room.”

He drinks and nods slowly with his eyes half-shut, remembering.

 

_The place was dim lighted and full of people. The music, usually loud and electronic, was, well, still very loud and very much electronic. The only difference from its usual state was the red and green decorations, which amazingly included laser beams, and the mistletoe that hung from the ceiling here and there._

_They sat at the bar, clueless and too young to drink. After a moment of thought they ordered a pitcher of punch and walked off in search of a quieter booth to sit in._

_It wasn't until after they've chugged two glasses each that they realised the beverage wasn't exactly non-alcoholic. They didn't mind._

_Between their uninhibited laughs and heavy eyes, the conversation started meandering_ _._

_“I mean, why did they even bother putting up all the mistletoe?” she complained. “It's a parasite anyway, and I see no way in which this is supposed to be romantic. And it's_ Christmas _, for godssake!”_

_“Well, would it make any difference to you if it weren't, though?”_

_“Not really,” she admitted. “I have no one to kiss under it, since I don't know anyone besides you.”_

_“I wouldn’t touch you either, even if I was wearing a Hazmat suit, thank you very much,” he scoffed._

_“Oh, Fitz…”_

_“You know what I meant,” he’s looking apologetic and Jemma lets him off easily. “The thing is, I’m always a tad irritated around Christmastime.”_

_Simmons kept her eyes on him, suddenly watchful of every word he said._

_“I know you probably miss home a lot, too,” His slurred speech and accent made it harder to understand him in the ubiquitous buzz of voices. “But back there it’s just me and my mum, and as much as I’m doin-,” A hiccup disrupted his confession. “I’m doing fine, but my_ mum _…”_

_Jemma’s eyes started filling up when her thoughts caught up with what he’s saying, but he didn’t notice._

_“I just feel so ignored here, y’know, and I think I just oughtta leave and go back and take care of mum. I never should’ve left in the first place.”_

_His voice cracked and his eyes didn’t leave the table. She waited a few moments before speaking to let him cool off._

_“I’ve noticed how you always underline things that are substantial, in your notes.”_

_She reached out a hand across the table and he reluctantly took it. “Don’t leave here. We both belong in S.H.I.E.L.D and we’ll make it through, together. I’ll be your underline, Fitz.”_

_He looks up, as if somewhat confused as to whether he heard her right with the alcohol buzzing through his ears._

_“I’ll be your underline, because you’re important,”_ _she said._

_It was the first time they’d gotten drunk together. In fact, it was the first time they’d gotten drunk at all._

_The night progressed as well as their tipsy chat, and when they were both no longer able to form coherent sentences, Fitz walked her to her room._

_“Drink some water, Simmons,” he reminded her as she was trying to find the right key, “I won't have you going on about how your head is killing you tomorrow.”_

_The door to her room fell open, and the soft moonlight from her window made his eyes a brilliant blue. He could barely make out her anything but her shape when she faced him and placed the softest of kisses on his cheek, supporting herself on his shoulders._

_“Thanks, Fitz.”_

_The doors closed behind her and, without any more distractions, he was forced to process what he was feeling. He was positive that the alcohol was responsible for the vertigo, but he wasn't sure about the beaming smile that he wore all the way to his room._

 

Skye’s cough makes Jemma’s eyes leave Fitz’s face, and only then does she notice everyone at the table staring at her expectantly.

She clears her throat. “It was fun, right, Fitz?”

He looks up at her, with a smile that reaches his sluggish eyes in a spark, and nods.

Everyone but them looks utterly confused about the exchange, which causes Jemma and Fitz to laugh out loud in delight.

“May I get some more punch, Simmons?” he teases.

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been a real roller coaster, but here it is! It's a part of the FitzSimmons Secret Santa Exchange 2015.
> 
> To my giftee (@shes-an-oddbird), I'd like to say words of apology and that of gratitude. You've been amazing even when I failed to be as good as you expected me to be.
> 
> My heart goes to my beta Aislinn (@pleaseletmeshowyou), who answered my incoherent messages at very odd hours, and corrected even the smallest of my mistakes.
> 
> To the readers, I want to say thank you, and remember you are always important to someone. Have a great year!


End file.
